


These Are Not Love Poems

by ContrEeri



Series: This is Not a Love Story [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Black Harry Potter, Black Hermione Granger, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-08
Updated: 2017-05-08
Packaged: 2018-10-29 12:13:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,299
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10853772
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ContrEeri/pseuds/ContrEeri
Summary: They don't really know how to build a friendship out of the remnants of old animosity, especially when they both know they want something more.





	These Are Not Love Poems

**Author's Note:**

> Sequel to [These Are Not Love Letters](http://archiveofourown.org/works/10735266)
> 
> I knew this was going to happen, I think. Even before everyone was asking for a sequel, I kind of felt like I wasn't done with this. It's cute and sweet, and mostly uncomplicated, and I've had fun writing it. I'm not sure yet how many installments there will be now, though. Thanks for reading! I'll try to update this soon!

_Draco,_

_How's your wand treating you? I know it's only been a week, but I figured I'd just check in. You haven't written since I saw you, so I—well, I hope your wand is working for you. And that Icarus is well. And your mum._

_Thanks again for talking to me about everything. I mean, being gay and stuff. I appreciated it._

_~~You still want to be friends, right?~~ _

_I heard you wrote to Luna the other day. She was quite happy to hear from you, actually. I think she thinks of you two as friends now. Ginny was mad. Did you know she and Luna had started dating? I only just heard about it. I mean, I guess Ginny thought I'd be upset, but I'm not. I'm happy for them._

_Anyway... Hope you're having a good week._

_Harry_

***

Harry missed Draco's wand. 

It was stupid and confusing and beyond frustrating, but he missed it. 

It had only been a week since he'd given Malfoy his wand back, a week since they'd had lunch at Harry's flat, a week since they'd last corresponded. It had only been a week, and Harry realised he was pining. For a wand. 

Or was it for something else? 

A gentle tapping drew his attention away from the lunch he was putting together. Icarus was staring through the kitchen window at him, his feathers slightly ruffled from the wind. Harry quickly let him inside. 

“Hello,” he said with a smile, holding his arm out for Icarus. He received the letter and an affectionate nip before Icarus flew into the other room to take up his perch and fix his feathers. Harry smiled down at Malfoy's elegant script, his own name staring up at him in a deep navy ink so dark it was nearly black. He liked that Malfoy didn't use black ink; black ink would be too common for him. Harry used black ink, but it suited him. It wouldn't have suited Malfoy. 

He turned off the stove so his food wouldn't burn as he read the letter. 

_Potter,_

_You are entirely too transparent. I'd say it's pathetic, but knowing how you were raised, I realise now how starved for affection you truly are. I brought this upon myself, I realise, but it truly astounds me to be on the receiving end of your...affections. It's almost—at the risk of encouraging you—endearing._

_I was actually planning to write to you before your letter arrived. I would like to know just what exactly you have done to my wand, because it is by no means the same wand. Of course it looks the same and it seems to be working well enough, but something is different, Potter, and I know you're to blame. Merlin, help me, you have me underlining things. Soon I'll be crossing out words and sentences instead of vanishing them like a respectable wizard. _

_Perhaps I shouldn't be asking you. Of course you don't know what you did. You don't even understand why my wand felt nice. I'd write to Ollivander, but it feels a bit inappropriate to ask him for assistance under the circumstances. I do intend to write him eventually—I'm learning the value of a heartfelt apology. As you mentioned, Lovegood received correspondence from me earlier this week. I felt she would be the easiest person to write to. As daft as she is, she is very kind. And forgiving._

_I didn't know she was dating the Weasley girl. I suppose that does make sense. They always did seem rather close, and Luna never struck me as the sort of person to be straight. Then again, neither did Weasley. I always thought her crush on you was just a farce. Perhaps that's the reason she broke up with you? Or perhaps it was just with you being gone during the war.... It was rather strange being at Hogwarts without you. All these terrible things happening and no Harry Potter to stop it—well, that's not true. You were trying to stop it, of course._

_My week has been surprisingly good, Potter. Even if my wand feels strange, it is quite nice to have it back. And Mother is quite well. Shocking as it is, she took your advice to heart about redecorating. We've sealed the drawing room and cellar for now, until such a time as we can find someone willing to help us with remodeling the Manor. In the meantime, she has busied herself with repainting certain rooms. It's strange watching her do manual labor, but she seems to be enjoying herself. She's also getting rid of as many Dark artifacts as she can find that my father had kept too well hidden from the Ministry. Unfortunately, some things cannot simply be removed. Dark magic is extremely dangerous, as you know, and well, certain things have been here far longer than Mother. I've done what I can to help her, of course, but we have both reached our limit; and I, for one, am rather tired of being in such close proximity to such Dark magic._

_Oh, and before I forget, Mother has extended an invitation to you. She would like for you to join us for dinner tomorrow night. Andromeda and Teddy will be here as well. She says you are welcome to invite Weasley and Granger, but I doubt they'll be willing to come. I presume they don't know we're friends yet, do they? Dinner will be a formal affair, so do try to look presentable. And do show up on time. We'll be serving dinner right at seven o'clock, so I expect you here no later than half past six._

_Try not to work yourself up next time I don't write to you for a time, Potter. You might give me the wrong idea about what this all means to you, and I'm certain we don't want that._

_Your friend,  
Draco_

Harry looked up from the letter, catching Icarus' eye. “Guess I'll need something nice to wear.” 

***

Draco was a nervous wreck. 

He paced back and forth in his bedroom, trying to calm himself. Going to Potter's place had been one thing, but inviting him to the Manor was something else entirely. Between that and the strangeness with his wand, his week had been one long, unending test of his patience.

 _”Tempus,”_ he muttered, checking the time. Numbers materialized in the air, clear as ever—maybe even more so. He'd sent his letter hours ago, which meant that by now Potter should have a response en route. He waved away the time, returning to his pacing. The spell he'd cast left a warm, tingly feeling in his fingers, a feeling that traveled up his entire arm, growing fainter and fainter the farther it traveled from his hand. He set his wand down, hoping to break the connection. The feeling didn't dissipate for long moments after, and once it did he missed it. 

He wondered what sort of feelings stronger, more complicated spells would leave him with and he eyed his wand from its place on the bedside table. The temptation to feel that warm, tingly sensation was so strong. He reached for his wand and then—

_Tap, tap, tap._

He closed his eyes, turning to his bedroom window. It was dark outside, but he could see the shadowy outline of Icarus through the glass and he rushed to open the window. 

“There you are!” he snapped, snatching the letter before Icarus could fly into his room. Icarus hooted in indignation and pecked his finger before flying off, flapping his wings furiously and mussing Draco's hair. 

He slammed his window shut, tearing open the letter. 

_Draco,_

_Dinner would be great. I've got training tomorrow, but I'll be out by five. Should I Floo there? I think I can find something decent to wear, and Hermione's been teaching me how to take care of my hair. Did you know you need different hair products when you've got hair like mine? I suppose just anything works for your hair, though. But Hermione insists I haven't been taking care of mine right all these years. It does feel a lot healthier these days, but I still can't figure out how to style it. I suppose I'm just not meant to._

_Should I bring something? Like flowers or wine for your mum?_

_I'm not sure what you're talking about with your wand, though. I could write to Ollivander if you'd like. I'm sure he'd be willing to help us out if I talk to him. I swear I didn't do anything to it. Since defeating Voldemort, I've really only used it for mundane spells, you know? Like summoning a bag of crisps from the kitchen or levitating things. I didn't want to use it once my wand was fixed, but then I started to miss it so I started to use it for simple things. Maybe you're just not used to your wand after so long? I remember after using your wand, mine felt different. Not bad or anything. I think I was just more aware of it, of the magic. I reckon that's probably what's going on with your wand._

_That's great your mum's decided to redecorate. I mean, your ~~house~~ mansion is beautiful and all, but those purple walls... Getting rid of Dark artifacts—that can be dangerous. Do you want me to see what I can do? I mean, I know I'm still only training with the Aurors, but I've got some experience. I'm sure I could make myself useful. _

_You thought Ginny was gay? What made you think that? She'd always fancied me, and then she was dating Dean for a while, and before him some Ravenclaw. Conor, I think it was? I mean, obviously now I know about bisexuality, and Ginny says that's how she feels. She wrote to me about Luna because Hermione told her to—said I'd understand. So once she told me about her and Luna I told her about myself. It's funny, now we're not together I feel like we're better friends. I didn't really know her so well before, and then I shut her out during the war, so maybe you're right. Maybe the war is why we never got back together. Guess I'm glad. Otherwise I might not have realised I'm bisexual. I'm surprised that I know so many people who're gay though. The way my aunt and uncle always acted, I thought this sort of thing wasn't so common. I didn't even know anyone gay until—well, I guess technically Dumbledore, but he never said anything about it._

_I think it's really brave of you to be sending apologies to people, though. I was really pleased when I heard you'd written to Luna. She really is the easiest person to talk to, even when she's going on about Humdingers. After the battle, she helped me sneak off so I could rest. She always just knows what you're thinking. It's a bit weird. Like maybe she's secretly a Legilmens. Who are you going to write to next? I wouldn't try Ginny just yet. Give Luna a chance to talk her round, because she's pretty pissed that we're friends right now as it is. Ron told her about that and she sent me a howler. Nearly burned my breakfast, it did. I sent Ron a howler to get him back. Maybe you could write him next? Or Neville. He's a good bloke._

_I'll see you tomorrow night._  
Cheers,  
Harry 

_PS  
You're not very convincing, you know? When you pretend that you don't like me or like talking to me. I'm not trying to hide that I like talking to you, you know? So I don't really care if I am transparent. I've never been good at hiding how I feel about stuff anyways. It's why I was always so bad at Occlumency. And you're right. Telling me I'm endearing is very encouraging. If you're not careful, Draco, you'll start giving me outright compliments and it'll all go to my head. And now I know you missed me last year when I wasn't at school! Can't say I'm not surprised by that, but I am pleased. Very encouraged. I'll also probably never let you live it down. _

Draco folded the letter carefully, smiling. 

He grabbed his wand, feeling that strange tingling sensation, and summoned a small wooden box from a shelf too high to reach. He tapped the box three times, whispered a careful, _“Occultatum,”_ which was followed by a soft clinking sound before the box clicked open. 

The other letters he'd received from Potter were carefully hidden within and he added this one to his stash, before closing the lid and tapping it once more with his wand. 

_“Clauditis,”_ he whispered, before sending the box back to its place. 

Potter was infuriatingly endearing. The feelings their correspondences inspired reminded him of the way his wand made him feel now—warm, tingly, confused, frustrated, hopeful. There were too many feelings to name, and it was not a road Draco wanted to go down. Not yet, at any rate. 

With Potter coming to dinner, he really shouldn't feel the need to write back, but there was something so appealing about staying up late just to write another letter to send. He sighed, shaking his head. 

He didn't want to appear too fond of Potter, after all. 

***

Harry was anxious. 

So anxious that when he Apparated to the lane that led up to Malfoy Manor he nearly threw up on the bouquet of flowers he'd brought Narcissa. It got steadily worse as he passed through the gates and made his way to the doors. He could hear Hermione screaming as he knocked on the door, but he somehow found the strength to plaster a smile on his face as a small elf with great big green eyes answered. 

He felt like someone had punched him. The elf looked so much like Dobby. 

“Harry Potter, sir!” the elf squeaked excitedly. He was not dressed in a worn out pillowcase, as Dobby had been when Harry had first met him. Instead, Tobby had on a rather nice pillow case that appeared to be made of silk, adorned with flowers and tied at the waist. 

“Y-you must be Tobby,” Harry said, his voice breaking. This had been a terrible idea. He hadn't considered what it might be like to step foot inside Malfoy Manor again. He wondered how Malfoy or Narcissa could stand to be here. 

The elf's eyes went comically wide and the smile he graced Harry with made his heart ache. “You is knowing Tobby!?” he squeaked. 

“Draco told me about you,” Harry said carefully. 

Tobby beamed. “Master Draco is being most kind to Tobby! Tobby is happy Master Draco is telling Harry Potter about him!” 

“Me too,” Harry said, warmed by the elf's joy. 

“Tobby will be taking you to Master Draco now,” he said, ushering Harry inside. 

He stepped through the doors, his heart pounding, and followed Tobby down the long hall. His skin crawled, as though he'd been struck with another hex, as though he were being manhandled through the extravagant house. He saw the drawing room's doors, but Tobby led him down another hall, away from the room and the memories of Hermione's screams. 

Tobby bowed, stopping before a door. “This is being it, sir.” 

“Thanks, Tobby.” 

The elf squeaked, smiled up at Harry with big watery eyes just like Dobby's, and then disappeared with a pop. Harry knocked on the door. There was a muffled _thump_ , something hastily whispered, and then a moment later the door was flung open to reveal Draco Malfoy, a faint pink blush high on his cheeks. He relaxed his expression, falling into a lazy stance against the door. 

“Potter,” he said, the smirk on his face softer and warmer than anything he'd ever directed at Harry during their school years. “Miracles never cease. You're right on time.” 

Harry smiled, a bit sheepishly, shrugging his shoulders. It was easier to talk to Malfoy in letters, where he could think of his responses without the need for haste. Face-to-face everything felt so much more intense, so much more fragile, like one wrong move would bring everything they had been carefully building crumbling down. 

Malfoy raised his eyebrows, his smirk slipping just a bit. “Well, come in” he said, exasperation creeping into his voice. 

He stepped aside, allowing Harry to enter a comfortable looking room that he took to be a lounge of sorts. It was a beautiful room with large windows that let in the sunlight and overlooked the gardens. Harry could see the albino peacocks strutting through the flowers in the distance. It was more beautiful on this side of the Manor, away from the memories that still screamed at him. 

“So,” Malfoy said, trying for casual. He paused, glancing at Harry then quickly away. “How was training?” 

Harry shrugged. “Good. Good. It was good,” he said, feeling more awkward as he followed Malfoy to a set of high-backed chairs near the fireplace. He wondered just how many rooms Malfoy Manor actually had. 

“Good,” Malfoy said, asked. Harry couldn't tell. 

“It was kind of a rough day actually,” he added. “We do practical training most days, but today was all theory.” 

Malfoy smiled, a little bit more toothy than necessary. “Oh, I bet you loved that.” 

He plopped into one of the chairs, his robes falling around him in an elegant sweep. He looked like he belonged, and Harry remembered that he did. This was Malfoy's world, this was his home. He was every inch the wealthy pureblood. Harry was just a common half-blood who'd inherited a fortune, but grown up underfed and in hand-me-down clothes. The contrast between himself and Malfoy felt like a distance between them that Harry could never cross. 

“I'm not so bad at theory,” Harry grumbled. “I mean, I'm no Hermione, but I know what I'm doing. Especially where this is concerned, but it's a lot of reading and remembering things—dates and laws and procedures. I'm no good at remembering that sort of thing.” 

Malfoy laughed. “You don't have to tell me, Potter. We went to school together for six years. I mean, honestly, you can't even remember the name of Weasley's ex-boyfriend. I'm amazed you even remember how to tie your shoes.” 

Harry bristled, ready to bite back a retort, but then he realised that the look on Malfoy's face was friendly, open. The amusement wasn't cold or cruel, it was inviting Harry in on a joke. He was teasing Harry, the same way he did in his letters. Harry forced himself to relax, taking a seat finally. 

“Ron's never had—oh, you mean Ginny. But I remember Dean's name! He's my friend—”

“I meant Corner,” Malfoy said. “Honestly, Conor. It took me a minute when I read that, but I remembered him. I was rather surprised. Weasley was far out of his league.” 

Harry stared. “You thought Ginny was out of his league?” 

Malfoy shrugged. “Certainly. I may not have liked her, but she's quite fit, anyone with eyes could see that. Corner was hardly that good looking. I certainly wouldn't have given him a second glance.” 

Harry shifted uncomfortably, looking away from Malfoy. “It's not all about looks,” he muttered. 

Malfoy snorted. It was a strange contrast to the elegance about him. A common, unrefined way of expressing himself that was so contrary to everything else about him that it made him seem more human, more within reach. Harry glanced up at him, surreptitiously taking in his expression. “Of course it's not all about looks, Potter, but looks are the first thing you notice about a person, aren't they? Physical attraction is all part of it. But I suppose that makes me shallow.” 

“No,” Harry said quickly. “I—that makes sense. I just never thought about it that way.” 

Malfoy hummed. “I suppose you wouldn't. You're probably a romantic, aren't you?” 

“I—” He paused, biting his lip. “Yeah, I guess I probably am.” 

Malfoy grinned. “Nothing wrong with that,” he said. “I'm sure it suits you—romance. You do get rather caught up in it, don't you? I vaguely recall.” He trailed off, looking at Harry, some dark thought morphing his expression until the softness from earlier was gone. Harry fidgeted. 

“I...well, I've only ever properly been with Ginny,” he said carefully. “Cho wasn't really—I mean, we were hardly together.” 

“Yes, I recall,” Malfoy said softly. “I remember hearing about you and Weasley when I got out of the hospital wing. It was quite the talk of the school.” 

Something shifted, tension rising between them. Harry hesitated, looking for something, anything to talk about. 

He was saved by a small pop and Tobby's tiny voice announcing that dinner was ready. Harry kept the sigh of relief in, but just barely. He wasn't in the clear yet. He could only imagine the sort of things Narcissa might ask him at dinner. He swallowed, accepting his fate and following after Malfoy to the dinning room. 

***

_Potter,_

_You are being ridiculous. I demand that you contact me immediately. Dinner wasn't so bad that you need to avoid me. Certainly you put your foot in your mouth a few times, but Mother found it charming—bless her—and I assure you she's not as concerned with the state of her robes as you are. Tobby will get the wine out without any trouble. It'll be as though it never happened. We'll just remember to keep the wine from you in the future. I blame myself, really. I should have realised you wouldn't be used to drinking wine with dinner. I imagine those muggles didn't even let you have dinner. I mean, just given how thin you've always been I think that's a fair assumption._

_Aunt Andromeda insists that you're more sensitive than you let on—afraid of rejection, she said. Funny that you'd be afraid of my rejection, given our history. How the tables have turned. I do wonder at that sometimes, it is quite baffling. I'm certainly not someone you ought to be socializing with, yet here we are writing one another, eating meals together, visiting each other in our homes... Which is to say, Potter, you have nothing to worry about. I am not so foolish as to throw away your friendship over a few thoughtless comments over dinner._

_I hope this eases whatever fears you have and that you cease avoiding me. I expect a return letter no later than tomorrow or else._

_Your friend,  
Draco_

***

Harry did not respond to Malfoy's letter as he should have. He kept it tucked in his pocket on his way to training, left it in his locker during their lessons for the day, kept it on his mind even as he dueled his fellow trainees. When he met Ron for lunch in between classes it was still in his pocket, a heavy weight despite the near weightlessness of the parchment. 

“What's up with you?” Ron asked when Harry continued to pick at his food instead of wolfing it down as he usually did after an intense training session. 

Harry shrugged. “Lot on my mind.” 

Ron frowned. “It's not to do with the Aurors is it? Or that article in _Witch Weekly_?”

“What article?” he asked, snapping his head up to look at Ron. 

Ron shifted uncomfortably. “Oh. I guess you didn't see. Well, they sort of got wind of you and Ginny splitting for good and well, you know.” He shrugged. “Kind of worried that had upset you. I mean, I know you're going through this whole—” He pulled a face, trying to find the words. “You're figuring this whole thing out with your—you know,” he said, giving Harry a significant look. “But I mean, I did expect you'd be more upset about her dating someone else.” 

Harry shrugged. “Nah,” he said. “I'm quite happy for her. Really, I am!” he added at the look on Ron's face. “I mean, I did think I'd want to be with her—and I did at first. But not for the right reasons, you know? Like, I think I wanted to be with her because of—well because I was expected to be. I'm really quite glad we're not giving it a go again.” 

Ron seemed to deflate. “Oh.” 

“Ron,” Harry said, trying to catch his eye. “Are you upset? I mean, it's mutual. She's not heartbroken over it, and neither am I.” 

Again, Ron's discomfort was obvious. “Is it...is it cause there's someone else?” 

Harry felt his cheek warm, the letter in his pocket suddenly seemed to burn. “W-what?”

“I just—well, Hermione thinks there is. She won't tell me more than that though. Says it's your business to tell.” Ron looked away, licking his lips, taking in a deep breath as though what he were about to say was very difficult. “I guess I thought—I mean, you know I'm okay with it, right? If you—I mean, if you dated...someone er, someone you know.” 

Harry's face was on fire. “I—there isn't—there isn't anyone, not really. I mean, no one I could—no one it could work with.” He frowned. 

“So you do like someone?” 

Harry swallowed, shrugged, looked away. “I—I guess. But it's not so easy as all that.” 

Ron sighed. “It never is with you.” He seemed to realise what he had said and quickly added, “I just mean—bugger, that came out wrong. I just meant, it wouldn't be. Because of who you are. The Chosen One and all that.” 

Harry shook his head. “I'm not Chosen, Ron. Not anymore. Now I'm just Harry, and I want to be that for as long as I can.” 

Ron smiled. “If you do meet someone, you'll tell me right?” 

“Course, I will,” Harry said. “I—you know I'm not trying to keep anything from you, right? It's not—this thing, it's still new for me. I'm not ready to be out about it, so if I were talking to someone—” He broke off, looking away. “I guess, what I'm trying to say is that when I'm ready you'll be the first to know.” 

“Yeah,” Ron said, his smile relieved. “Yeah, mate, I know.” 

Harry tried to quash the guilt he felt, but reasoned that there wasn't really anything to tell as he'd said. Whatever was going on with him and Malfoy wasn't anything he was going to pursue. It wasn't a lie, he was only omitting truths he'd rather keep private. 

The letter in his pocket felt heavier as he returned to the Ministry from lunch, weighted with guilt and unspoken truths. 

***

Harry was usually home before six, but tonight he waited for Ron. Hermione was at Hogwarts, redoing her missed year, and usually only spent weekends with them, which meant they often ended up at one or the other's flat, eating dinner and catching up on their day. Harry rather thought they needed it, he needed it. He told himself it wasn't because he was guilty over keeping things from his best friend. 

He pulled his cloak tighter around himself as a chilly breeze blew through Diagon Alley. Ron was just leaving the shop, calling back to George his goodbyes when a familiar owl flew down through the streets, startling a few people. Harry, without thinking, held out his arm for Icarus. 

“What's Malfoy's bird doing here?” Ron asked, sounding a bit annoyed. 

Harry's stomach was in knots. “I don't know,” he said, knowing full well that it couldn't be anything good. He took the letter from Icarus with shaking fingers. 

_Potter,_

_You have not responded, therefore I am going to have to take drastic action._

_You have been warned._

_D. Malfoy_

Harry swallowed and pocketed the note. 

“Mate?” Ron asked, coming up to him. “You okay?” 

Harry nodded mutely. “Never better.” 

Icarus cooed, nuzzling against him before taking flight. 

“That owl sure does like you,” Ron muttered. He still sounded annoyed, as though Malfoy's owl liking Harry was a personal insult. “What's with you and Malfoy's things? First his wand, now his owl.” He shook his head. 

Harry blushed, turning quickly away from Ron and heading down the street. “No idea,” he muttered. 

Ron seemed to take the hint, which Harry was grateful for. They made their way from Diagon Alley and back into the Muggle world. They had decided on take-out earlier, and so they made their way to the Indian restaurant not far from Harry's flat. It was a nice night for a walk, and it helped to ease Harry's nerves just a little bit. He pushed Malfoy's letters from his mind, forcing himself to chat with Ron about the day. It helped to distract him further, and by the time they had turned onto his street he had pushed aside all Malfoy-related concerns. 

Until they got to his flat and found Draco Malfoy standing outside, glowering as he waited in the chilly October air. 

Silence stretched for a long moment as Harry stared in utter horror, Malfoy meeting his gaze with narrowed eyes, and Ron looking between the two, his expression morphing slowly from confusion to resignation as the moment dragged on. 

Finally, Ron broke the silence 

“H-Harry,” he said weakly, “what's going on?” 

Harry shook his head. “I—I don't know,” he lied. “Um, Malfoy—”

Malfoy's eyebrows rose, his mouth curling into a sneer. “What? To good to call me by my given name with company present?” 

Harry flushed. “N-no, I just—I'm—er—”

“Eloquent, Potter,” Malfoy said, his sneer not slipping a fraction, not hinting at a joke between them. 

Ron continued to stare back and forth between the two of them. Harry thought he looked a bit queasy, but then he steeled himself—against what Harry could only guess—and cleared his throat. “Well, we were about to go inside for dinner. D-do you—” His voice broke, but he carried on a moment later, the words coming as though they pained him. “Do you want to eat with us? I'm guessing you're not gonna just bugger off, so...” 

It was as nice an invitation as Ron could have given to Draco Malfoy. Harry was relieved, proud, and mortified all at once. He wanted to turn around and run away. They should have gone to Ron's place, he realised, regret mounting. But that would have meant leaving Malfoy sitting on his stairs all night long which would only further insight his anger. 

Malfoy was staring at Ron as though he'd grown an extra head, but after a long moment a slow smile spread across his face. He looked predatory. It made Harry feel uneasy. “That sounds lovely,” he said, far too agreeable. Harry waited for the other shoe to drop, but did his best to ignore the sets of eyes on him as he unlocked the door to his flat. Ron's gaze was questioning, confused, concerned, and maybe just a bit understanding, understanding Harry did not want him to have just yet; Malfoy's gaze was hard, unrelenting, angry, and just a little bit hurt, a hurt Harry had never meant to put there. The guilt ate at him further. 

It was fortunate that Ron and Harry usually ordered far more food than necessary for just the two of them—Ron had a large enough appetite, but as often happened, his eyes were still bigger than his stomach. Harry simply had a hard time controlling himself when it came to buying food. They unpacked their food, setting out samosa and naan, curries and rice, and finally tikka masala. It was certainly enough food for three grown men, even with Ron there. 

“We got Indian,” Ron said, pulling up a chair while Harry grabbed drinks from the kitchen. “Hope that's okay.” 

Malfoy nodded. “I'm rather a fan of curry,” he said quietly, taking a seat. He angled his chair away from Ron, and despite his impeccable posture and the ghost of a sneer still on his face, Harry could see that he wanted to shield himself, wanted to shy away from Ron's searching gaze. He sat down, passing around butterbeers, trying not to let his unease show. 

They ate in silence at first, but finally, Ron broke it, unable to handle the tension in the room. 

“So,” he said, glancing between them again. “What brings you here, Malfoy?” 

Malfoy hesitated. “Potter, of course. Or rather Potter's obstinance.” 

Ron's confusion mounted. “He got your owl if that's what you were worried about.” 

Malfoy's mouth twitched, as though he were fighting not to sneer. “No. I had every faith that Icarus would find him.” 

“Ah,” Ron said, as though this were a great bit of wisdom. “So you came to visit Harry because—”

“He's convinced himself that avoiding me is the best solution to something that isn't a problem.” 

Harry slumped in his chair, his shoulders hunching. “That's not it.” 

Malfoy gave him an arch look. “No?” 

Harry shrugged. “I'm embarrassed, okay? I thought that was obvious.” 

“Yes,” Malfoy drawled. “It was, and I told you there was nothing to worry about. Mother and I don't care. Personally, I quite agree with you—at least in part—on the matter of my father, and like I said, Mother doesn't particularly care about the robes.” 

Ron rubbed his temples. “So, you came here because Harry was avoiding you? Is this—are you two—” He swallowed. “Are you two dating?” 

Malfoy, Harry was pleased to see, flushed. “I beg your pardon?” 

“I just—this is all—this is a lot to take in, a lot to process,” Ron said, his voice pained despite Malfoy's lack of an answer. “I mean, for one thing it's—it's you, no offense, Malfoy. And for another it's—no, actually, that's really all. It's just you. You and Harry. Dating. That's just—Harry, please tell me you have alcohol here.”

Harry shook his head. “Sorry,” he muttered. 

Malfoy took in a deep breath. “We aren't dating, Weasley. I assure you,” he said. Harry couldn't help but notice the strange tone of his voice—regret, perhaps? Ron must have noticed as well because he was eyeing Malfoy dubiously. 

“So, you showed up here in the middle of the night—waited outside for who knows how long in the middle of October, because Harry wouldn't take your owl?” 

Malfoy shifted, cleared his throat. “When you put it that way...” The pink in his cheeks did not fade and he looked away, but only succeeded in catching Harry's gaze. His flush deepened. “Of course that makes it sound—but that's not—I mean to say, Potter and I are...friendly acquaintances.” 

“Acquaintances?” Harry repeated, stung. 

Malfoy looked like a startled deer. “I—”

“No,” Harry snapped. “Acquaintances, I got it. Wouldn't want anyone to know that you're human under that cold facade.” 

“That's hardly—”

“It's not like you and I have been writing each other regularly,” Harry added, snapped. “Or had lunch and dinner together. Or—or— _flirt_. Merlin, no! You'd never lower yourself to do something like that.” Harry had known he'd gone too far, but he was angry and hurt. 

Malfoy narrowed his eyes, rising from his seat. “That's rich,” he snarled. “Coming from you. What was that about not dating someone who'd been so horrible to your friends? You can certainly flirt with someone who was horrible, but Merlin forbid you actually do anything about it!” He threw down his napkin, pushing his chair out of his way. 

Ron was on his feet, his hands coming up to halt Malfoy, his expression torn. “Malfoy, wait.” 

“What?” Malfoy said, taking a step back. He looked just as confused as Ron did. 

Ron sighed. “Look, I'm not—I don't know how to feel about all of this, okay? But it seems to me like you two need to talk. Whatever is going on—” He pinched the bridge of his nose, steadying himself. “If you two are—are attracted to each other—”

“Hardly,” Malfoy sneered. 

“Oh come off it,” Ron snapped, red in the face. “You came all this way just to see him. Obviously there's something going on here. So either sort it out like adults or—” Ron threw his hands up, letting out a frustrated cry. “Just sort it out. I'll be outside. Let me know when you two have kissed and made up.” The door slammed behind him, leaving an awkward silence in its wake. 

Harry stared at his food, mortified. Malfoy was standing in the middle of his living room, rigid and pink in the face. 

Finally, Harry cleared his throat. 

“Could we—could you sit down?” 

Malfoy did without a word, returning to his seat, but this time angling it away from Harry, closing himself off. Harry tried not to let that hurt. 

“Listen, I—I'm sorry I avoided you, okay?” 

Malfoy nodded stiffly. “Okay.” 

“And I—I'm sorry I snapped. I shouldn't have.” 

Malfoy shrugged. “I shouldn't have belittled our friendship.” 

Harry nodded. “Yeah, that—“ He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “This is a lot harder than I thought it would be.” 

Malfoy shrank, looking down at his hands in his lap. “I know. I suppose I should leave.” 

Harry reached out, tentatively touching Malfoy's shoulder. “I wish you wouldn't.” 

“Oh?” Malfoy asked, quietly, a sad smile on his face. He glanced back at Harry. “Why ever would you want me to stay?” 

“Because,” Harry said leaving the rest unspoken. 

“Because,” Malfoy repeated. He snorted. “That's very compelling, Potter.” 

“I'm a compelling guy,” he said, a small smile finding its way onto his face. 

Malfoy rolled his eyes. “You're an arrogant oaf is what you are. For some reason though, I have grown fond of you. Fancy that.” 

“I do,” Harry said without thinking. He blushed, looking away. “I mean... No, I—I do. Fancy you. A bit.” 

Malfoy's flush seemed to be a permanent fixture. Harry was rather pleased by it. “I see.” 

“But...but we don't really know one another, do we?” 

Malfoy shook his head. “Not particularly well at any rate.” 

“And our history is...” 

“Rather ugly.” 

Harry hummed. “What are we going to do?” 

Malfoy sighed, sitting up straight and turning to Harry. “Perhaps we should stick to letters for now.” 

Harry had thought so before, but hearing it aloud made him wilt. He didn't want to not see Malfoy, but so far their encounters had been difficult. They'd walked on eggshells, Harry had put his foot in his mouth, the past kept coming up in some form or another, and they'd both hurt and upset each other. Letters were so much simpler. 

“I—if that's what you want.” 

“I don't know what I want,” Malfoy admitted. “But I don't want this—this tension. Every time we see each other it's—I half expect you to yell at me for something I've done.” 

“I keep expecting you to insult me,” Harry admitted. 

“So,” Malfoy said, meeting Harry's gaze. “Letters. For now?” 

Harry bit his lip. “Will you... can you stay for dinner?” 

Malfoy frowned. “Potter...” 

“No, just...dinner. Please. After dinner maybe things will feel better and we can—we can go from there.” 

Malfoy sighed. “All right. I suppose” 

Harry smiled, a bit tentatively, but wholly relieved. Malfoy returned the smile in full. 

***

_Draco,_

_I'm sorry I've been such an arse. I'm not the best with emotions, which I'm sure you've figured out. I'm glad you stayed for dinner though. I'm glad Ron invited you in at all, because I didn't really know what to do. It was nice. I mean, it was hard, but it was nice. And I think Ron even enjoyed himself after we stopped being so awkward ~~and had some time to accept whatever it is that I feel~~. I think he might be coming round to you, even. Hermione'll be shocked, I think. I always expected Ron to hate you for the rest of our lives._

_I understand if you want to...take a break from writing letters though. I think we both got caught up in all this and maybe forgot about...everything. I think I wanted to, you know? I wanted to forget about our past and start over, but I don't think we really can. Everything with us has always been—intense, hasn't it? You and I never got on at school, and then there was the war, and now suddenly we're trying to let bygones be bygones, but I don't think we can do that. I mean, we've hurt each other a lot over the years._

_Sometimes I think “what if”._

_What if I'd not been so convinced you were just evil? What if I'd tried to reach out to you in sixth year? What if instead of cursing you into a bloody mess I'd tried to talk to you? What if...what if I could have helped you? But I never did. I never offered. And Dumbledore—well, he knew the whole time and he just let it all happen, didn't he? But if I'd just been better, maybe I could have saved you._

_It's so pointless to even wonder that though. I mean, it's all said and done. The past can't be re-written. Not even with a time turner from what Hermione's told me._

_But sometimes, I do wonder what might have been if I'd just been better._

_Anyway, I'm sorry I mucked everything up. I guess I am kind of an oaf, aren't I? But I do care about you, even if this is all confusing and complicated and maybe a bit painful. I care about you. Like you quite a bit, actually. You're really not half so bad._

_I hope we can still try for friendship, but I understand if it's asking too much._

_Your friend,  
Harry _

_PS  
I wrote to Ollivander. Haven't heard anything back yet, but I can send along his reply once I get it._

***

“Harry,” Ron said, gently shaking him. “Harry, mate, wake up.” 

Harry rolled over, blinking sleepily up at Ron. “What time's it?”

“Just past six,” Ron said. “Hermione'll be here soon. She got held up studying.” He paused, looking into Harry's face. “You okay?” 

Harry looked away, sitting up from the couch. “Yeah, 'm fine.” 

“Has Malfoy talked to you lately?” 

Harry shook his head. 

Ron sighed. “Give it time, mate.” 

Harry watched Ron walk into the kitchen, rummaging through the fridge for a drink. Harry had fallen asleep on his couch because he'd been too afraid to go home to his own flat to find that Icarus hadn't come by. It had been almost two weeks. 

“Do you think—do you think he'll ever talk to me again?” Harry asked, hating the way his voice broke, the way he sounded so fragile. 

“Mate,” Ron said with a sigh, “it's Malfoy. If there's one thing I know about Malfoy it's that he can't stay away from you. You two have always been like that with each other. I don't understand it, don't really know if I like it, but that's just how it's been.” 

Harry tried to smile, but it felt forced. “Yeah,” he said. “I just—I feel like I fucked up.” 

Ron sighed. “You didn't. Or maybe you did, but—” he said, then shook his head. “Merlin, this is weird. I—I don't know if I'm ready to accept you and Malfoy dating.” At the look on Harry's face he quickly added, “I will! I don't mean—I just... I'm gonna need some time to adjust is all. Ginny'll be pissed.” 

“We're not—we're not dating, Ron. I told you.” 

“But you fancy him?” 

Harry shrugged, then nodded. “Yeah. I mean, at least what I've seen of him. I like the way he writes me letters. He—he really seems to care about me, which _is_ weird, but it's—it's nice.” 

Ron shook his head. “I can't imagine Malfoy caring about—well, I know he cares about his mum. And I guess his dad.” 

“They have a complicated relationship from what I've been able to gather,” Harry said. “He does care about him, but I think he's a bit...resentful.” 

Ron snorted. “No kidding. I can't blame him for that. If anything, I'd wonder how he couldn't be what with his dad being the reason he got so close to all that.” 

Harry nodded. 

The Floo flared before either of them could say more and Hermione stepped, a book bag over her shoulder, her thick hair pulled back in a high pony-tale. She smiled, looking excited but tired, and when her eyes found Ron her expression softened further. 

“Welcome home,” he said quietly. Harry would never stop wondering at how easily they had fallen into their relationship. It was so natural for them, so easy. Every time Hermione was with Ron, every time Ron was with Hermione it seemed as though they were more balanced, more right with the world. Harry envied them, just a bit. 

“Harry!” Hermione said once she and Ron had hugged and kissed and stared adoringly at one another for far too long. 

Harry smiled. “Hey.” 

She knew immediately that something was wrong and shared a look with Ron. “Is he still...” She sighed. “Malfoy still hasn't owled you, has he?” 

Harry flushed, but before he could respond there was a gentle tapping at the window. All three of them looked, but before Hermione could open the window Harry was on his feet, racing across the room to wrench the window open. 

“Icarus,” Harry said, relief and joy and excitement and trepidation all warring for a place in his heart. Icarus hooted softly, sticking out his leg. Harry's fingers shook as he took the letter. Icarus hopped inside and, after a moment of looking around, flew to Hermione. 

Harry stared down at Draco's familiar handwriting, at the way he had written Harry's name so carefully, so elegantly, as though writing Harry's name alone could somehow bridge the gap between them. 

“Are you going to read it?” Ron asked, impatient. 

For all of Ron's discomfort, he sounded almost eager to know what Malfoy had said. Harry swallowed, but managed to find the courage to see what had been written. 

_Harry,_

_First, I would like to ask you for forgiveness for taking so long to respond. I needed some time to sort things out for myself, to decide how I wanted to proceed—not just with you. Since the war, my life has been anything but ideal. I used to imagine myself taking after my father: I would become the Lord of the Manor, I would marry a pureblood witch, and we would have at least one child to carry on the Malfoy name and traditions. I wouldn't work, of course, but I would find my way into the political realm within the Ministry through donations and the like. That's what Father had wanted for me. It's what I had thought I wanted._

_Except then there was the war and everything I'd ever been taught was proved wrong at every turn. And in the aftermath, no one would accept anything from a Malfoy. And to top it off, I turned out to be gay—I imagine if Father knew he would be furious, but he is, thankfully, in prison and Mother has no interest in forcing me into anything that would not make me happy._

_Which is where you come in._

_Your friendship has been the only bright spot in my life since the end of the war. It is, and at the risk of sounding maudlin, the only thing that has made my life worth living. This Manor is a waking nightmare for both Mother and I, but we have no where else to go and with our funds on lock thanks to Father's actions, we couldn't move if we wanted to._

_I don't want to though. I have spent the better part of these last two weeks thinking about those “what ifs” and coming up with new ones._

_What if, instead of doing nothing with my life, I did something worthwhile? What if, instead of fearing Hogwarts, I returned? What if I made my own money? What if I made amends with all the people I've wronged and found friendships where I wouldn't have looked before? What if...._

_What if we could start—not over. As you have said before, and I quite agree though it pains me to, there is too much history. But what if we could build a friendship out of something other than our old animosity? What if we could see each other face-to-face without feeling as though one of us will try to hex the other? What if we could be proper friends? What if we could be—_

_Well, I don't want to go too far down the rabbit hole. Those are plenty of “what ifs” to be getting on with, and I hope the “what if” of our continued friendship is something you still want to see through._

_With all that being said, I am planning to return to Hogwarts to obtain my NEWTs. It's a bit late, but I have always been a good student—at least, academically speaking. Mother and I talked about it in great detail, and though she will miss me while I am at school during the week, she supports my decision. She is keeping herself occupied as it is with Aunt Andromeda and Teddy, and with redecorating the Manor. Loath as we are to remain here, it has always been my home, and I think both Mother and I are too stubborn to be chased out of our own home by ghosts._

_As for my NEWTs: I was thinking that—and this is very much inspired by you, but do try not to let your ego get too big—I would try my hand at further making amends for the wrongs I committed during the war. Apologies, I have found, are rather rewarding. I have offered healing up for others and myself, and in so doing found what I think will be the right path which is to say I am going to try my hand at being a Healer._

_I'm sure that must seem strange, and I know it will not be easy. I have written to Professor McGonagall about my goals, and she has agreed to allow me to return to school for the rest of the year. I'll have some catching up to do, as I said, but I think I can do it. Also, Granger has offered her assistance in helping me to catch up._

_Which reminds me: don't be mad, but I wrote to Weasley and Granger while I was not speaking to you. As you have made it quite clear, you could never be with someone who had wronged your friends, and I realised that I could never be with someone who I had hurt as much as I have hurt you. I asked them to keep this from you while I sorted things out for myself, and they kindly agreed, though only because I promised I would write to you soon. Granger also threatened me if I, and I quote, “break [your] heart.” I have no desire to be on the end of Granger's wand—or her fists—but more to the point, I have no desire to hurt you. Not any longer._

_And for the record you have always been better, Harry, at everything. Certainly you are not perfect, you did almost kill me, after all. But you are as good and as heroic as they come. You couldn't have saved me from myself, nor from my father's poor choices, but you did save me in the end. You saved us all, just like I knew you would._

_I always had faith in you, and you came through. You're the only person, besides Mother, who I've ever had such faith in and not had reason to regret. Sometimes I do wish I hadn't lashed out at you in that bathroom during sixth year, but what would either of us have done? Talked about our feelings? Listened to each other? That's a laugh. No. At sixteen, and under the circumstances we had found ourselves in there was no way we could have come to anything but blows._

_But, for what it is worth, I do not regret those scars; and you are still better than anyone else I have ever known._

_Yours,  
Draco_

_PS  
Have you heard from Ollivander, by any chance?_

Harry's vision was a blur by the time he got to the end of the letter. He wanted to pretend that he wasn't crying, that the letter hadn't pulled at something deep within him, that it wasn't the most wonderful thing he'd read in weeks, but he couldn't. 

“Harry?” Hermione asked, tentative. “Is it—what did he say?” 

Harry turned, smiling, a few tears falling from beneath his glasses, which he quickly wiped away. “I-it's good,” he said, voice shaking and throat tight. “It's—it's great, actually.” 

Hermione and Ron seemed to sag with relief, but there was that knowing look on both their faces. 

“Also, he told me he wrote to you guys,” he added. “You're gonna help him with school?” 

Hermione looked only slightly guilty. Mostly she looked pleased. “I am. You know he was top of the class right after me? Well, up until sixth year, but...” She shook her head. “It will be nice to study with someone who actually enjoys it for a change.” She gave them both a severe look, as though she could somehow get them to do homework they didn't have just by the sheer force of her gaze. Harry actually did have homework to do, now that he thought about it. Auror training wasn't all about throwing spells, after all. 

“Well, it sounds like he's happy. And we're going to keep being friends.” 

“That's great,” Hermione said. “I mean, I did know, of course, but I'm glad he kept his promise.” 

“What exactly did you threaten to do to him if he, er, broke my heart?” 

Hermione lifted her chin, a gleam in her eye. Harry remembered fifth year and the jinxed parchment from the DA. She grinned. “Nothing, Harry,” she said. “I simply said it would be in his best interest not to.” 

Harry didn't believe her for one moment. Neither did Ron, but he was smiling down at her with all the love he'd always had for her shining in his expression. Harry didn't feel the tug of envy when he pressed a kiss to Hermione's head. He looked down at the letter, smiling at the way Malfoy had signed it. 

_Yours_.

Harry wondered if that had been intentional. He couldn't imagine it wasn't. Everything Malfoy wrote was intentional, every dot on an I or cross on a T, every comma, every colon, every word. Malfoy wrote letters in deep navy blue ink on pristine parchment that Harry would never spend the money on, and he never crossed out a single word. Everything was intentional. 

_Yours_.

There was so much meaning in that one word. Malfoy was his, if Harry wanted him. He was Harry's friend, and he didn't have to be Harry's 'what if'. He could be Harry's. Completely, in time. They still had a long way to go before they were ready for their friendship to transform, but Harry wanted to see those “what ifs” through with Malfoy. In fact, he couldn't wait to see where they led.

Smiling, he folded the letter, carefully placing it in his pocket. As light as it was, it felt heavy with the promise for the future.


End file.
